


Happy Birthday, Derek

by JoMouse



Series: Tumblr Prompts [35]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Presents, Canon Compliant, Don't copy to another site, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 07:06:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19825039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoMouse/pseuds/JoMouse
Summary: Derek thinks Stiles is predictable. Maybe he is. Probably he isn't.





	Happy Birthday, Derek

**Author's Note:**

  * For [endlesstalesofwonder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlesstalesofwonder/gifts).



> Greetings and salutations!!!
> 
> This is in response to a double prompt sent to me over on tumblr by [endlesstalesofwonder](http://endlesstalesofwonder.tumblr.com) from [this list](https://josjournal.tumblr.com/post/146131648737/first-sentence-writing-prompts):
> 
>   * “How exactly did you manage to get stuck in there?”
>   * “In my defense, I thought this would go a lot more smoothly.”
> 

> 
> I had an idea where I wanted it to go and it was supposed to just be a drabble, but when have I ever succeeded in that? Hope you enjoy it, sweetie!
> 
> Big thanks to my betas, [Marie](http://quietzap.tumblr.com)and Jenn. I don't think I can explain just how much you mean to me and how much I appreciate everything you do for me. Seriously, I would never post anything if it weren't for you!
> 
> xx-Joey
> 
> Don't know 'em. Don't own 'em. Don't show 'em.

“How  _ exactly  _ did you manage to get stuck in there?” Derek asked, glaring down at Stiles where he was sitting in the middle of the basement of what used to be Hale House. The center of the stairway leading down was smashed, spikes of charred and weathered wood sticking up like rotten teeth. Stiles had one foot propped up on his backpack, wrapped in his hoodie as he shivered from the cold of the early December evening.

Sheepishly, Stiles looked up at him. “In my defense, I thought this would go a  _ lot _ more smoothly.” He’d honestly just planned to explore the basement, hoping that there might be some family memorabilia left there that had survived the fire; Derek’s birthday was coming up and he’d wanted to do something special. He just hadn’t taken into account the recent rainy season and the fact there was large holes in the floor above the basement.

The rain had started again when he’d reached the house, a bolt of lightning startling him so that his arms windmilled and his feet slipped on the already water-logged steps. He’d tried to catch his balance by planting his feet, but one had gone through the step. As he’d tried to yank it free, he’d lost his balance again and landed in a sprawl at the base of the stairs.

When he’d tried to stand, his ankle buckled, his pained yelp echoing off the walls as he hit the ground again, barely avoiding smacking his head against the concrete. Without a first aid kit, he’d only managed the most rudimentary of first aid. Once that was done, he’d tried to figure out a way to escape by exploring as much of the basement as he could from where he’d landed, occasionally sliding on his butt to further investigate an odd shape that caught his eye.

After about an hour, the sun had gone down and the chilly December air had seeped in, surrounding Stiles and chilling him enough that the shivering started. With a heavy heart and frozen fingers, he’d swallowed his pride and texted Derek.

“You always think your plans will go more smoothly than they do,” Derek chastised, his lips quirking a bit at the corners.

“Hey! I have great plans!” Stiles snapped, yelping when Derek leapt into the basement over the busted out stairs landing in a three point crouch in front of him; Stiles was honestly surprised he hadn’t done a backflip. “Showoff,” he muttered.

Derek raised his head and smirked, speaking as he stretched his body to stand. “Never said you didn’t.” Derek knelt next to Stiles to check out his ankle, drawing pain when he winced at the contact. “Just pointing out the indisputable fact that they never seem to work out the way you expect.”

Stiles slapped his hands down on the ground next to him in frustration, yelping as pain shot up both arms and rattled his teeth. “Dammit,” he muttered, smacking Derek’s arm when he smirked and then shaking his hand out to relieve the additional pain.

Derek picked up Stiles’ pack and threw it up the stairs so that it landed on the floor above with a thud and a clutter. Stiles let out a shout, but stopped when Derek turned around, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Stiles looked away, crossing his arms over his chest with a huff. He held back a shriek as Derek pulled Stiles up until he was on his back, functioning limbs wrapped tightly around him. With no visible effort, he jumped and landed next to the backpack, wavering for just a moment as the floor groaned beneath their combined weight, making sure Stiles’ injured leg didn’t hit the ground.

Grabbing the backpack, he began walking without putting Stiles down. Although he abhorred being babied, attempting to walk would be worse, so he just gave in and pretended to hit Derek’s flank with a whip calling out, “Giddy up!” and squawking loudly when Derek pinched his thigh in retaliation. They made it outside and over to Stiles’ jeep, Derek helping him into the passenger seat. “Where’s the Camaro?” he asked as he tried to fight off Derek fastening the belt around him.

“From your text, I figured you would need someone to drive you home, so I came on foot,” Derek explained and it was then Stiles realized that he was wearing the clothes they kept in the Jeep for emergencies.

“Four feet, you mean,” Stiles grumbled. “Because I’m so predictably stupid.” He kept his voice low as Derek made his way around the Jeep, but the drawn together eyebrows on his face as he climbed in alerted Stiles to the fact he’d been heard.

They rode in silence out of the preserve and when Derek turned left towards the center of town instead of right towards Stiles’ house, Stiles banged his head against the seat back. “Let me guess, Melissa’s got the ‘Stiles Kit’ all ready and waiting,” he grumbled, using air quotes and rolling his eyes as he debated jumping out of the moving vehicle and how much more damage that would cause. 

As Derek slowed to a stop near a light, he actually reached for the door handle, stopping when Derek blurted, actually blurted, “You’re not stupid. No one thinks that.” Stiles heard his mouth shut with an audible click. From the corner of his eye, he watched a flush cover Derek’s face until it reached the tips of his ears.

Stiles huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as they pulled up in front of the hospital, Melissa waiting outside the emergency room doors for them, Scott and his father standing beside her, arms crossed over his chest and face a mix of concern and exasperation. He waved his arms at the assembly waiting for him and glared at Derek whose ears were actually turning pink. “Yeah, no one thinks I’m stupid. Sure. Screw you, Derek,” he snapped and allowed his father to help him out of the Jeep. Before he was completely off the seat, he turned his body and grabbed the keys, turning off the ignition and yanking them out. 

As his father and Scott helped him into the hospital, he didn’t look back even once. He didn’t care what Derek did next or if he ever saw him again, but he wasn’t going to do it in Stiles’ Jeep. He handed the keys to Scott once he was seated in an examining room so he could get the Jeep parked and out of the tow away zone. When Scott opened his mouth to speak, the first word out of his mouth being, “Derek,” he cut him off with a glare and pointed towards the door.

* * *

The next night, Stiles was sitting up against his headboard, his sprained ankle wrapped and propped up on a pillow, an ice pack settled over the top. He glared at the crutches leaning against his nightstand and typed aggressively, working on an assignment for his English class that was due in a few days. Although he’d typed several pages, he was convinced that nothing he’d typed actually related to the topic, but he was too sore, angry, and exhausted to care.

He barely moved when there was a tap against his window, knowing who it was and refusing to answer. He was safe from Derek climbing in, like he usually would despite Stiles repeatedly asking him to stop and use the front door, by the line of mountain ash on his window sill. The tapping came again, accompanied by Derek calling his name softly. Huffing, Stiles grabbed his ear buds, putting them in his ears and turning the volume up loud enough to block out the sounds and let Derek hear it.

He tried to work for another hour, but he kept catching movement outside the window at the edges of his field of vision. Eventually, he gave up and closed his laptop, pulling out his ear buds and turning off the light on his nightstand. Even in the dim light, he could still see Derek’s shadow outside his window and he had a moment of pity when he heard thunder in the distance and a flash of lightning gave him a quick glimpse of Derek’s face pulled into his typical frown. 

Rolling onto his side and showing Derek his back, he stared at this alarm clock, watching the red glowing numbers change. Derek was moving around outside the window, his weight shifting enough to cause creaking that Stiles hoped wouldn’t wake his father. Derek appeared to be fidgeting enough to rival Stiles ordinary behavior, which was highly unusual for the stoic Alpha. Raindrops began pelting the windows and Stiles felt bad for a minute, literally. He watched the clock to change from 12:30 to 12:31, before his anger was renewed by a sudden twinge of pain shooting through his ankle.

Groaning, he grabbed for his crutches and hobbled over to the window, unlocking it and breaking the mountain ash line before making the return trip to his bed. He dropped down and shoved his crutches away before propping his leg up again and gesturing toward it. “I’m not speaking to you, but since you’re here, do your werewolf mojo.”

Derek landed softly inside the window, turning to close it. He shrugged out of his jacket, draping it over the back of Stiles’ desk chair before moving to sit beside him on the bed and laying his hand on his shin just above the wrapping on his ankle. Stiles sighed as the pain drained, closing his eyes, ignoring Derek saying his name quietly. He didn’t want to know what he had to say anyway. He drifted off to sleep under the warmth of Derek’s palm and the sound of rain pattering the window. 

* * *

Stiles woke with a start, his heart pounding and his ankle throbbing. He looked around for the source of his panic and saw Derek looking sheepish over by the window, Stiles’ crutches lying at his feet where they must have fallen. Stiles choked out a sob when he saw the broken picture frame lying under one of the crutches; the frame that held the photo of his mother he kept on his nightstand. “What the hell, Derek?” he shouted, jumping when his bedroom door flew open to reveal his father looking sleep ruffled and furious in his pajamas.

“I don’t want to know,” John said turning and leaving the room, it wasn’t the first time he’d found Derek in his son’s bedroom at an odd hour of the day and he’d long accepted that if something hadn’t already happened between them, it would soon, a discussion he had with his blushing son on more than one occasion. “Derek, help Stiles down the stairs for breakfast.” He closed the door behind him and even Stiles could hear his father muttering about stupid kids as he made his way downstairs.

Derek squatted down to begin picking up pieces of the frame, falling backwards when Stiles shouted at him, “Don’t touch it!” Stiles scrambled off the bed reaching to retrieve the photo and hugging it to his chest, ignoring the pricks he could feel through his shirt from the broken edges of the glass. Pulling it away from his chest, he inspected the photo, relieved there were no rips. He jerked backwards when Derek reached over to help him back up on the bed. Stiles tried to curl around the photo again, but Derek stopped him.

“Don't want you to hurt yourself more. I promise I’ll be as careful as if it were my mom,” Derek whispered and Stiles could hear the tears choking his throat, so he released his grip. 

Stiles pouted on the bed as Derek picked up the broken pieces of glass off the floor, throwing them in the trash before turning his attention back to Stiles. “Need to see if you cut yourself,” he said, cheeks flushing as he gestured to Stiles’ shift. 

Stiles huffed and pulled the shirt over his head, fighting the urge to cover his bare chest from Derek’s eyes, but endured his inspection and scrambled back into his shirt when he was declared injury free. He reached for the crutches, face twisted into a frown when Derek held them back. “I kind of need those to walk, dude,” he said. “Remember stupid me falling through the stairs and ending up on my ass because I’m a predictably stupid moron?”

“I could carry you down,” Derek offered.

Stiles would deny the swoop that flew through his stomach at the image that brought to his mind of Derek carrying him bridal style to the big bed in his loft. Shaking his head roughly, he glared. “I’m no damsel in distress.”

“I was thinking on my back, but if you’d rather use the crutches, feel free.” He handed them over to Stiles and headed for the door. “I’ll see you downstairs. Smells like the pancakes are just about ready. I’ll try to save you some.”

Stiles groaned and tried to push himself to his feet, ending up falling back on the bed with a huff. “Derek,” he called, not entirely surprised when Derek’s head immediately appeared in the doorway, a smug grin stretching across his face. “Shut up,” he mumbled as Derek made his way into the room, squatting down in front of him so that Stiles could climb aboard.

Derek grabbed the crutches and steadied Stiles on his shoulders. “Giddyup,” Stiles said, half-heartedly as he realized this was beginning to become a far too common occurrence. He’d deny to anyone who ever asked that he laughed when Derek let out a quiet whinny and galloped out the door towards the stairs.

* * *

Several days passed as Stiles learned to get around on crutches while still doing more than just lying around in his bed watching Netflix and eating anything he could get his hands on with minimal physical exertion. Although he couldn’t do much beyond that, he used the time between well-meaning visitors to work on Derek’s birthday gift. He’d been worried when Derek had thrown his backpack that he would’ve broken the treasure he’d discovered in the basement of the Hale house, but thankfully it had escaped unscathed or at least not any more scathed. The gift was finished, but it still needed some time to finish drying. He centered it on his desk to keep it safe from anything falling on it and tried to occupy himself now that his project was completed.

He’d been fortunate that Scott had been chauffeuring him around since the injury because he still couldn’t drive and probably wouldn’t be able to for a few more weeks. He hadn’t needed Scott very often, just when he needed something to work on Derek’s gift or to take his dad lunch, but he was thankful for the assistance. Some others in the pack came to check on him as well, the only notable exception being Derek who hadn’t tried to contact him at all. It had been the longest bit of time he’d gone without hearing from Derek and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He knew it was his own fault; with how Stiles had treated him, he couldn’t blame him. Hell, he wouldn’t want to talk to him either to be honest.

As he sat on his bed, he stared up at the ceiling. He was completely alone for the first time since the injury, his dad was working and Scott was out with a girl he’d met in one of his classes, and Stiles had a serious hankering for curly fries and other greasy diner food. He tried calling Scott, but wasn’t entirely surprised when there was no answer; if he’d been on a date, he wouldn't have answered either, bro code or no. He debated calling Derek; he was the only other one with a car he’d normally feel comfortable asking. His thumb hovered over the contact in his phone before he vetoed the idea, already imagining the lecture about his predictability.

Once he’d shut down that idea, he was back to sitting on his bed trying to ignore the taste in his mouth for hot, salty twists of potato. He stared at the walking directions on his phone, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d walked there, he and Scott used to do it a lot when they were pre-license. He eyed his crutches critically and then glared back at his phone, the logical part of his brain growing quieter with each passing moment. Finally, he pocketed his phone and grabbed his crutches. He double checked he had his wallet and house keys before letting himself out the door and making his way down the sidewalk. 

He was almost to the corner when the wind began to pick up and a slow rumble rolled through the sky. In all his planning, he hadn’t thought to check the weather; an oncoming storm would certainly have changed his plans. Swearing loudly, Stiles turned around, his crutches getting tangles and fell, scraping his arm as he went before landing solidly on the grass of his neighbor’s house. 

He laid on the ground for a minute to catch his breath before rising to his elbows in an effort to get back to his feet. Lightning flashed, thunder rumbled and the skies opened up. The rain poured over him, coming so hard there was no differentiating between drops, just an onslaught that fought against him. He tried pushing to stand twice more before giving up and falling backwards, limbs sprawling out around him, frustrated tears disguised by the rain.

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there, his clothes were soaked to the point he couldn’t even register more water soaking into them, as he debated opening his mouth and letting the rain drown him. Between one blink and the next, Derek appeared above him, blocking the rainfall and what little light the streetlights provided. “Do I dare ask?” His eyebrows were raised, eyes glittering in something that could either have been concern or amusement, but his lips were pressed together tightly and Stiles knew the jerk was holding back a smile.

“No,” Stiles snapped, glaring as Derek stayed where he was. He knew Derek didn’t deserve his attitude, and he really had planned on apologizing soon, but he was sick of always having to be rescued from his own plans. “Good night, Derek,” he said, voice firm as he turned his face away, his cheek squishing in the muddy lawn, but he refused to give the other man the satisfaction of seeing him grimace.

With a sigh, Derek bent over Stiles and scooped him up, dumping him over his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his thighs. Stiles smacked Derek on the butt, shouting, “Put me down! Stranger danger! Bad touch!”

“Shut up!” Derek hissed. “Do you want your neighbors to call the police?”

“Yes! Please! Mrs. Rodriguez, call the cops!” he screamed, but his voice was drowned out in the rain and the Rodriguezes had been on vacation for the past week.

They made it to Stiles’ house and he squawked as Derek dug into his pockets to pull out his keys and shoved the door open. He strode across the room and dropped Stiles unceremoniously on the couch before disappearing back out the front door. “Good riddance!” Stiles shouted before realizing he’d have to get up to lock the door and his crutches were still lying out in the rain somewhere.

Putting his hand down on the arm of the couch, he tried to push himself to stand when the front door opened again, lightning flashed behind Derek as he stood in the doorway, dripping water everywhere. In one hand he clutched Stiles’ crutches and the other a paper bag with suspiciously familiar looking grease stains on it. He dropped back onto the couch as Derek tossed the bag at him before leaning the crutches against the couch within easy reach.

“Start eating while I get the first aid kit,” he grumbled, gaze averted from Stiles as he crossed the room and headed up the stairs.

Stiles opened the bag and nearly moaned as he breathed in warm, salty air. He was already drooling when a towel hit him in the head, the couch moving as Derek sat down beside him. He opened his mouth to argue, but Derek shoved a handful of curly fries inside, stopping anything he had to say.

Stiles munched on the curly fries while Derek cleaned the scrape on his arm. The food warmed his stomach, making him want to grin as he usually did when eating diner food, but he forced his mouth into a frown, not wanting to give Derek the satisfaction of his food-induced joy.

“Are you done being angry with me?” Derek asked as he closed the first aid kit and rose to put it away. Stiles just grunted and pulled a wrapped bacon cheeseburger out of the bottom of the bag. “Alright then. I’ll get you some dry clothes.”

Stiles ignored him, focused on the burger until Derek’s words set into his brain. Dry clothes. Clothes that were in his room. In his room where Derek’s birthday present was. Derek’s birthday present that wasn’t quite dry.

Dropping his food, not caring where it landed, he pushed to his feet, forgoing his crutches to hop towards the stairs, using the railing to hop up them. He was making a lot of noise and if he’d been thinking he would’ve been surprised that Derek hadn’t come out to investigate the noise; instead, he was focused solely on getting to his bedroom in time to hide the items on his desk from the wolf’s view.

Finally making it to his doorway, his stomach clenched. Derek’s back was to him, both hands resting on the edge of Stiles’ desk, head dropped down, shoulders shaking. “Don’t kill me,” Stiles pleaded, falling down to his knees to crawl the rest of his way to his bed. He pulled himself up onto it and collapsed, an arm thrown over his eyes, exhausted from the effort and prepared for death.

When death didn’t come, he lifted his arm and turned to see Derek hadn’t moved, but the shaking had increased into a full on tremble and soft sounds were coming from him. Derek was crying. Stiles swallowed hard as his own eyes filled with tears and he choked on Derek’s name as he made his way off the bed, using pieces of furniture for leverage as he made his way over to the man.

Once he was close enough to feel the heat from Derek’s body, he held a hand out to hover over his shoulder, hesitating before allowing two of his fingers to connect briefly before gripping Derek’s shoulder sharply. “I’m...I’m sorry,” Stiles managed to get out. When the radio silence between them stretched he started to pull away, freezing when Derek grabbed his wrist holding it in place. 

Derek’s quiet tears became sobs that tore through Stiles emotions as violently as they tore through Derek’s body. Turning, Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles and buried his face in Stiles' neck. Stunned, Stiles' hands moved on their own, wrapping around Derek and holding him snuggly against him, rubbing up and down his back in a comforting way. Quiet reassurances spilled out of Stiles’ lips, more noises than actual words but they seemed to get through to Derek whose trembling slowed and the dampness on Stiles’ shoulder seeped through. 

Stiles had no idea how long they stood there, but the rain outside ceased long before Derek’s tears did. Eventually, he pulled away from Stiles and turned back to the desk, one hand grasping Stiles’ wrist and the other hovering over the photo frame on the desk. “Where did you find this?” he asked, voice gravely deep, finally fitting the outside image that Derek exuded, but Stiles found he didn’t like it nearly as much as his actual voice.

Stiles cleared his throat. “The basement. It’s why I was there,” he whispered. “I found an album, it’s over there.” He pointed towards the bookshelf by his bed. “This was the only photo of all of you.” 

Derek tugged Stiles closer, moving his hand from his wrist to wrap an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close to him before reaching up to push Stiles’ head gently against his shoulder and turning to press a kiss to the top of his head. “The frame?”

“Well, the glass is from a frame I already had, but the wood is from a box that I found near the album. It was in pieces, but I was able to glue the pieces together.” Stiles reached out and ran a finger over a tiny triskelion that Stiles had managed to fit to the top center of the frame. “I figured it was important to the family since this was there.”

Derek nodded, pressing another kiss to Stiles’ hairs, his breath ruffling the strands as he spoke. “I think it was a jewelry box that I made for my mother when I was a child. Cora broke it and I thought M...m-om had just thrown it away.” His fingers followed Stiles’ path, finally touching the frame. “Why did you do this?” he asked, turning to face Stiles and wrapping both arms around Stiles’ waist, pressing their foreheads together.

Stiles' smirk was a little sad as their eyes met and crossed. “Because you weren’t expecting it,” he said, chuckling when Derek pinched his side and rolled his eyes as the clock in the family room struck midnight. “Happy birthday, Derek,” he whispered, smiling when Derek pressed their lips together.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on tumblr: josjournal


End file.
